IT had long been my desire to visit the islands in Bass's
Straits, not so much on account of the extent of population by
which they are inhabited, as because I was painfully aware that
the few families settled therein were entirely deprived of the
means of grace and the ministrations of the Church. David's troubled
cry, "No man cared for my soul," must have found an
echo in the heart of each one amongst them who had been put partially
awakened to a knowledge of that souls' value in the sight of
Him who bought it.

The navigation of these islands is intricate and dangerous;
beset on every side with shoals and [1/2] sandpits, sunken rocks,
and bare, rugged reefs. They are unvisited for the purposes of
trade, and few persons would be tempted, by mere curiosity, to
encounter the difficulties of approaching them.

Not to mention the extreme hazard of threading these islands
without an experienced pilot, the small cutter which I keep,
in partnership with my excellent friend the Chief Justice, is
ill-adapted to encounter the heavy seas and sudden storms that
prevail in Bass's Straits. Well calculated as is our little craft
of ten tons for missionary work in the river or in D'Entrecasteaux
Channel, something more substantial is required for a protracted
cruise in a tempestuous region.

As I had good reason to believe that I should meet with an
affectionate welcome from those whom I so longed to visit, it
was with more than common joy that I availed myself of an unexpected
opportunity of accomplishing my long-cherished wish.

The Government possesses a schooner of about ninety-six tons,
which is kept mainly for the purpose of visiting and supplying
the lighthouses belonging to the Colony and its dependencies.
[2/3] Recently, however, it was determined that her operations
should be for once extended, and that the port-officer, Captain
King, R. N., should not only inspect the lighthouses, but also
visit some of the harbours along the northern coast of the island,
while the surveyor-general, Robert Power, Esq., might communicate
with all the tenants of Crown lands within the Straits.

Entrance to Storm Bay, Van Diemen's Land

A passage was readily granted to me, on application to the
authorities; and on the morning of the 23d of September, 1854,
I embarked on board the Beacon, in company with my two
agreeable fellow-voyagers.

After many delays, consequent on our fouling the anchor of
another vessel, we got under way about half-past two in the afternoon,
with a fair wind, which gradually stiffened into a strong breeze
as night drew on. We rounded Cape Pillar at 9 P.M. It is seldom
that there is not a heavy sea running in this part of Storm Bay,
and the wild nature of the coast acts as its own warning to induce
mariners to give the basaltic columns with which it is studded
as wide a berth as possible.

The accompanying sketches will serve to [3/4] explain the
character of this coast better than any description.

Cape Raoul, Cape Pillar, Tasman's Island

It was a rough night; but the only damage done by the seas
which occasionally broke over us was the loss of our starboard
gangway, which had not been properly secured.

SUNDAY, 24th.

The vessel was in too much confusion, and the motion in a
singularly lively craft too incessant and irregular, to admit
of the celebration of Divine Service, even had a severe headache,
with which I have been frequently visited during the last few
months, permitted me to attempt it.

At 6 P.M. we reached Swan Island, at which place we had to
land stores for the use of the superintendent of the lighthouse.
The weather looked so threatening, and the only good anchorage
of the island so perfectly exposed to the southeast wind which
was then blowing, that Captain King decided on pushing on for
Goose Island. As far as the weather was concerned, our apprehensions
were groundless; it fell calm, and we [4/5] had the full benefit
of some hours' rolling--a motion which to me, when tightly wedged
in a narrow berth, is far from being unpleasant. A light breeze
sprang up towards morning, and at half-past six on

MONDAY, 25th,

we dropped anchor at Goose Island.

It was well that we were prevented from fulfilling our original
intention of landing at Swan Island; for when the superintendent
of the light house Captain Davis, came on board, we found that
they had expended their last ounce of flour yesterday.

Soon after breakfast we went on shore, and visited first Captain
Davis's snug abode, and then the lighthouse. I was keenly and
painfully reminded of my last visit to this island in 1843, in
company with my dear and lamented friend Sir John Franklin. Arrangements
were made with Captain Davis for the celebration of Divine Service
in the evening at his house--an offer which he gratefully accepted.

We went on board to dine, and rowed off at [5/6] dusk to the
island. The short twilight in this region soon left us, and we
had to push our way to the house through a narrow and tangled
track, stumbling every now and then over sundry invisible obstacles,
our ears the while saluted with the hoarse, discordant scream
of the mutton-birds, the malts of which species come annually
to the island to prepare the nests for the females. We were told
that their arrival was singularly regular; scarcely, in any instance,
varying from the 21st of September.

A small but most attentive congregation assembled in Captain
Davis's parlour, who listened to and joined in the service with
an earnestness and devotion which evidently showed that the heart
was with the act of worship. After the Second Lesson, a young
Malay, of about eleven years of age, was brought to me to be
baptized.

He was picked up in China by our host, when about four years
of age; and since that period he has been most carefully tended
by his parental patron, who has done his best to instruct him
in the elements of Christian truth. One fruit of this teaching
was exhibited in the anxious desire that [6/7] he had expressed
to Captain Davis to be admitted to baptism. Poor boy! he was
too shy to answer the questions which I put to him respecting
the nature, privileges, and responsibilities of that holy Sacrament;
but Captain Davis assured me that he quite understood what was
said to him, and would give good proof of this by repeating,
after my departure, all that had been said to him on the subject.
He was named "Russell," at Mr. Power's suggestion;
his bright eyes sparkling at the promise of a Prayer-book and
Bible being given to him, so soon as he could read them with
tolerable facility. It was a painful thing to think of the isolated
condition of these wild places; their few inhabitants utterly
devoid of all those outward means of grace which the Church supplies,
and gradually, as almost a matter of course, ceasing to care
deeply for the "word in season" which comes to them
at such distant intervals. No minister of God's word had landed
there since my visit in 1843.

The island itself is a long, narrow strip, about two miles
from one extremity to the other, composed of huge granite boulders,
flung about in the [7/8] most fantastic groups. During a long
ramble which we took in the course of the day, we had abundant
evidence that it was not devoid of the means of ministering to
the comfort of its tenants. The soil deposited in the hollows,
composed as it is chiefly of the manure of the mutton-birds,
is rich in character and productive in quality. Vegetables grow
luxuriantly; the gardens well repay the care that has been bestowed
on them; and a handsome cow showed, by her sleek condition and
portly person, that there was no lack of fattening forage, unpromising
as was the appearance, at first sight, of this wild, rocky islet.

The lighthouse is 71 feet in height: the light itself, which
is fixed and 108 feet above high-water mark, being visible twenty
miles in clear weather. I should not omit to notice the thoughtful
care of the Government in providing good and useful books, blending
instruction with amusement, for the men attached to all the lighthouses.
We took out 50l. worth, to be distributed among the five
establishments; and to be exchanged from time to time.

[9] TUESDAY, 26th.

Our intention of going on shore in the morning was frustrated
by the uprising of a strong northerly breeze, which induced Captain
King, at half-past nine, to run for Swan Island. After a fair
passage of four and a half hours, we dropped anchor under the
lee of the land at 2 P.M. It was too rough to land our stores,
or even to enable us to jump on shore with any degree of comfort;
so we remained quietly on board, and betook ourselves to various
occupations. The superintendent (Morgan, formerly chief mate
of the Government convict-ship, the Lady Franklin) managed
to launch his whaleboat and, under the escort of a powerful crew,
to come on board to pay his respects to his chief. His only child
was unbaptized; so we made arrangements to go on shore on the
morrow.

WEDNESDAY, 27th.

We had a tumbling night of it. It blew furiously: the wind
shifting from W. to S.W. in heavy squalls; and a rolling sea
setting in-shore, so as to render landing impossible.

Kent's Group

[10] THURSDAY, 28th.

The wind so far moderated as to allow us to go on shore; when
I availed myself of the opportunity of baptizing Mr. Morgan's
little girl. It was my earnest desire to have celebrated Divine
Service in the evening; but the state of the weather warned us
that our anchorage was unsafe, and that it was high time to be
under way: so at 3 P.M. we set sail for Kent's Group.

Swan Island is the largest of a cluster of islets lying about
three miles from the N.E. coast of Tasmania. It is little more
than a succession of sand-heaps, covered here and there with
tussocks and stunted shrubs. It seems strange that food should
be found, out of such unpromising materials, for five cows, a
score of sheep, and other live stock.

The lighthouse is placed at the S. E. end of this narrow,
hammocky slip of sand and rock; differing only from that at Goose
Island in that the light is revolving, not fixed. Eleven years
have passed since I assisted at the ceremony of laying the first
stone of this lighthouse, with dear [10/11] old Sir John Franklin.
Hundreds, nay, thousands, since that period have had good reason
to bless the thoughtful care on his part, which provided so useful
a beacon for this perilous and stormy coast.

FRIDAY, 29th.

Rolling heavily during the night: after a tolerably fair passage
passed Goose Island at breakfast-time. Sighted the "pyramid,"
a huge, isolated rock, about 300 feet high. I must not omit to
say how we were all struck with the singular formation of the
peaks of Flinders Island as they opened upon us. I have rarely
seen more picturesque or fantastic forms.

As the afternoon drew on, the high cliffs of Kent's Group
rose in sight. I was strongly reminded, when at some distance,
of my favourite old haunt, Capri. As we neared the islands the
likeness somewhat lessened; for we became conscious that there
was a passage that divided the Eastern from the Western Island.

The entrance is narrow and not without its perils; for, as
is always the case in the immediate [11/12] vicinity of these
high lands, the winds are baffling. The master of the vessel,
Captain Nicholson, brought us through with admirable skill; and
at about eight o'clock we anchored in West Cove, Erith Island.

SATURDAY, 30th.

Soon after breakfast I went on shore with Mr. Power. Our amiable
commander, Captain King, (who had slept on shore,) met us on
the beach of Deal Island, and piloted us to the house of the
superintendent. A winding road, cut with great judgment, through
the scrub and she-oak trees, led us to Mr. Baudinet's residence.
It was startling to see the comfort with which he was surrounded.
Here, on this wild, isolated rock, we found a comfortable stone
house; a well-appointed homestead; a garden redolent with sweets,
and singularly beautiful in the varied colours of its flowers:--an
atmosphere of peace and content breathing around this ocean-home.
We found another evidence of the active enterprise of Mr. Baudinet
and his sons in the wide road which formed the access to the
[12/13] lighthouse. From this point we had a noble view of Flinders
and the surrounding islands to the eastward. Far as the eye could
reach stood Wilson's promontory on the westward. It was with
difficulty that we could tear ourselves away from this romantic
scene, lit up as it was with all the glory of a bright Tasmanian
sun.

Flinders Island

On our return to the schooner we were much struck with the
strange appearance of the cliffs that bound in West Cove to the
southward. They bore the form of a huge face--eyes, nose, beard--complete.
It was as though some monster giant was keeping his stony watch
over the entrance to this narrow passage.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 1st.

Our arrangements for the celebration of Divine Service had
been made on the previous evening with Mr. Baudinet. As the entire
population of the island consists of his own family, (nine in
number,) and two men employed at the lighthouse, our congregation
was, of necessity, very small, even with the addition of the
boat's crew of the Beacon, [13/14] Captain King, Mr. Power,
and the schooner's commander. I have, however, often found a
peculiar comfort in ministering to these little gatherings of
Christian people. Scanty as they are in numbers, there is commonly
a larger amount of manifest devotion and close attention to the
services than is to be found in the crowded or well-appointed
church. I was gratified, too, to find that Mr. Baudinet was so
thoroughly impressed with the duty imposed upon him as a master
of a family, and as bearing rule in this isolated place, as to
gather together all around him for regular worship. No day passes
without family prayer; and each Sunday finds him at his post,
keeping alive a spirit of devotion by reading the Church Services
in company with his little knot of worshippers.

The stores were soon landed; but the boisterous state of the
weather rendered it unadvisable for us to leave our snug anchorage
until the morning of the fourth. We set sail at about 10 A.M.
with a fresh breeze, which gradually died away as we got in mid-channel.
It was nervous work, swinging helplessly about between the huge
masses of granite which stand on each side of Murray's [14/15]
Pass. More than once we were drifting so closely to their jagged
neighbourhood that it seemed almost impossible to avoid striking.
Captain Nicholson handled the schooner with great skill and coolness.
We all felt a sense of relief when a gentle breeze sprung up
and carried us safely beyond our perils; for had the long swell
heaved us upon the rocks, the schooner must have been dashed
to pieces; to climb those perpendicular cliffs would have been
impossible even for a chamois hunter: had the boats failed us
in such a predicament, we must all have perished.

The passage between the two islands of Erith and Deal (which
form the principal portion of the group) is about three miles
in length, and from half-a-mile to a mile in width; so deep in
the centre that the lead-line will not reach the bottom. The
western of the two, Erith, possesses a safe anchorage (of which
we availed ourselves) in a cove about a mile across from N. to
S., and half-a-mile in depth. It is utterly devoid of all profitable
vegetation; tenanted only by a few rabbits and the ever-present
snake. Its length is about four miles; almost divided, near the
centre, by a [15/16] narrow neck of loose stones covered partially,
at high water.

Deal is somewhat larger and very much more productive. The
enterprising superintendent and his active sons have succeeded
in bringing several acres of land into cultivation; a good road,
(as I have before mentioned,) about one and a half mile in length,
has been cut to the lighthouse; and a capital garden supplies
them abundantly with vegetables, and furnishes, withal, an ample
stock of flowers, the full benefit of which we reaped for the
adornment of our cabin. A team of six bullocks conveys their
stores from place to place, and is rendered useful, of course,
in many agricultural pursuits. Order and regularity, comfort
and independence, appear to await upon the whole establishment.
The lighthouse is erected upon a cliff that must be from 1,600
to 1,700 feet above the sea. It is revolving; and may be seen
at a distance of fifty miles.

After a pleasant, though somewhat slow, passage, we cast anchor,
late at night, midway, as far as we could judge, between Flinders
and Hummock Islands.

[17] THURSDAY, 5th.

Morning proved to us that we were further off from Flinders
than we had calculated upon. Consequently, when Mr. Power and
I landed after an early breakfast, we found ourselves compelled
to task the powers and patience of our boat's crew more severely
than we could have wished.

Nearly eleven years had passed since I landed on the self-same
rocks with Sir John Franklin. How changed the scene! Then the
beach was covered with the aborigines, who greeted their kind
and loved benefactor with yells of delight; capering and gesticulating
with movements more indicative of exuberant wild joy than of
elegance or propriety. Now all was still; a solitary labourer,
impelled by curiosity rather than by any other feeling, remaining
on the shore to watch our progress, and to point out the safest
entrance.

I had no difficulty in recognising the little tract that led
from the sands, through the tea-tree shrubbery, to the "settlement,"
even though the axe had been busy on every side. It was painful
to witness the scene of ruin in the once neat and [17/18] well-ordered
settlement. Desolation stared one in the face wherever the eye
was turned: the comfortable house of the superintendent rapidly
falling to decay; the gardens well-nigh rooted up; the range
of buildings, in which the aborigines were formerly hutted, untenanted,
broken, and tumbling down. The only sound fabric appears to be
the old chapel, and that is turned into a barn.

Not that the present lessee of the island, Captain Malcolm
Smith, is to blame for this altered state of things. The buildings
are mostly useless to him, and perhaps the sooner they are down
the better. Badly built in the first instance, they were not
calculated for endurance, and are not worth keeping in repair.

Whilst speaking of Flinders Island, it may not be amiss to
touch briefly upon the character of the aboriginal inhabitants
of Van Diemen's Land who were, for some time, settled on this
island. They are fast disappearing from the face of the earth;
and in all probability the lapse of a few years will find the
race extinct, and no trace left to tell of those who once were
lords of these fair possessions. Their numbers, on my visit to
[18/19] Flinders Island in 1843, were fifty-four; they are now
reduced to sixteen; and though their new residence, Oyster Cove,
in D'Entrecasteaux Channel, is in many respects superior to their
former home, there seems no probability of any improvement being
effected in those habits of living which so materially affect
the constitution.

Early navigators speak of the aboriginal inhabitants of Tasmania
as a social and gentle race, equally devoid of curiosity and
of fear. Indolent and unenterprising, they were not prone to
acts of open daring; but, as is the wont of savages, addicted
to petty theft. All accounts agree in describing them as being
singularly deficient in the most ordinary methods of procuring
for themselves those comforts which usually characterise even
the most untutored tribes of man.

No trace can be found of the existence of any religious usage,
or even sentiment, amongst them, unless, indeed, we may call
by that name the dread of a malignant and destructive spirit,
which seems to have been their predominant, if not their only,
feeling on the subject.

The first period of our taking possession of the [19/20] Colony
(August, 1803) passed away without any act of violence on the
part of the natives, or of oppression upon our side. But, in
less than ten months from our occupancy, a serious and a fatal
collision took place between the small party of British at Risdon,
on the banks of the Derwent, and a numerous body of the aborigines,
who, as it afterwards appeared, had visited our encampment for
the purposes of observation rather than of plunder. In this affray
it is said that fifty natives fell beneath our bullets.

Poor ignorant savages--all unconscious of our power and of
our resources, knowing nothing of the white man, except that
he was the deadliest foe with whom they had hitherto encountered--it
is no wonder if, from that moment, they bent all their energies
stealthily, but resolutely, to work the ruin of their invaders.
This hostile feeling, once aroused, was never suffered again
to sleep; and there is too good reason to fear that the savage
instinct of revenge was perpetually whetted by acts of wanton
barbarity inflicted upon them, at one time by the bushranger,
at another by the convict stock-keeper.

[21] It was in vain that successive governors denounced these
enormities, and punished the delinquents when detected and convicted.
The humane efforts of Collins, Davey, Sorell, and Arthur, to
restore confidence and to establish friendly relations, were
frustrated by the coarse brutality of a miserable portion of
the European population.

It would be to no purpose to chronicle the savage deeds that
were, from time to time, committed, either as acts of blind retaliation,
on the one hand, or of capricious cruelty on the other. Old colonists
have told me many a fearful tale of violence and murder, of insult
and of violation. There are many such on record which make us
blush for humanity when we read them, and forbid us to wonder
that the maddened savage's indiscriminate fury should not only
have refused to recognise the distinction between friend and
foe, but have taught him to regard each white man as an intruding
enemy, who must be got rid of at any cost.

Fearful and unsparing was his revenge. The rifled hut, the
plundered stock-yard, the fired house, sheep and cattle killed,
maimed, or stolen, [21/22] attested the wild spirit of hatred
that had been aroused; whilst darker deeds raised up in array
against them the passions even of those who might have been more
disposed to pity them for their wrongs, than to sit in judgment
upon them for indulging the animal instinct of retaliation.

No white man's life was safe: at no hour of day or night could
he be sure that the sleepless eye of the stealthy savage was
not upon him, watching for the favourable opportunity to pounce
upon his unwary and helpless prey. Men, women, and children were
speared alike.

At length, in 1830, a plan was devised by Colonel Arthur,
which, it was hoped, would put an effectual stop to this incessant
destruction of life and property. He determined to assemble all
the available force of the Colony to establish a chain of posts
extending in a line across the whole island, and so gradually
to hem in the small remnant of the natives as to compel them
to fall back upon Tasman's Peninsula, an isolated district joined
to the main land by a narrow neck, and well adapted to ensure
either their seclusion or their capture.

[23] Volunteer parties assembled from all quarters of the
country; the very prisoners of the Crown were armed, and incorporated
with the forces; effectual means were taken to supply them abundantly
with regular rations; martial law was proclaimed throughout the
Colony; and the expedition set forth in number about five thousand.

Two months passed, nearly thirty thousand pounds had been
expended, and the "Black War," as it was called, terminated
in the capture of two individuals.

These means had signally failed; others were tried, with better
success. A builder in Hobart Town, named Robinson, who had been
placed in charge of twelve captured natives at Bruin Island,
had succeeded in gaining a strong hold upon their confidence
and affection. His experience of their character induced him
to believe that he might exercise a similar influence over their
unhappy countrymen, who had again scattered themselves throughout
the Colony. The experiment was tried: he travelled over the country;
some surrendered, as hopeless of a better state of things; others,
sullen and exasperated, stood out longer; but, [23/24] after
the lapse of a few years, the miserable remnant of the once lords
of the Tasmanian soil were gathered together, some by capture,
more by persuasion; and after much debate as to their ultimate
disposal, and after some few changes in their destiny, they were
transported to Flinders Island, in Bass's Straits. The last capture
was made in December, 1842.

Huts of a comfortable character were erected for them, a medical
superintendent and instructor appointed, and every reasonable
attention paid to their comfort and improvement. The savage nature
seemed to be extinguished by their new mode of life. So far as
I am aware, no grave charge, no criminal outbreak, marked their
residence at Flinders. They gradually sank into listless apathy,
broken only by the rare occurrence of a stray visitor, or a new
source of wonder.

Various reasons induced the Government to decide, in October,
1847, upon the removal of the small handful that yet survived
to Oyster Cove, in D'Entrecasteaux Channel. A deserted penal
station is now the last home of this unhappy race. I subjoin
an interesting sketch of their habits [24/25] from the pen of
Dr. Milligan, who was for some years their superintendent both
at Flinders Island and at Oyster Cove.

"The aborigines of Tasmania, a race now nearly extinct,
had a complexion and skin of a dark brown, or nearly black colour,
with crisp hair, growing remarkably low upon the forehead, and
extending down, in both sexes, on each side of the temples, in
the shape of a whisker, projecting eyebrows, and sunken orbits,
flat nose, and lips slightly thickened. In stature many of them
were above the middle size, while, on the other side, many fell
short of it. They wore no clothing whatever, except only in case
of illness, when a kangaroo skin was put on, with the fur inwards,
laced together in a way to fit the body. All along the eastern
and central portion of the Colony they lived without having any
fixed abode; and it was only on the west coast, between Port
Davey and Macquarie Harbour, that huts were in use continuously,
for periods of about six months together: these huts were conical,
and thatched with grass, having an opening on one side, to answer
the double purpose of door and chimney. [25/26] The numerous
tribes of which the population of the island consisted were constantly
at war with one another; and their language, or medium of communication,
was, as might have been expected, split, by hostility and non-intercourse,
into dialects almost as many as the various tribes in number.
They lived chiefly on animal food; the kangaroo, wallaby, bandicoot,
kangaroo rat, the opossum, and the wombat, nearly every bird
and bird's-egg that could be procured, and, in the case of tribes
near the sea, cray-fish and shell-fish, formed the staple articles
of their diet. With these they mingled the core or pith of the
fern trees, Cibotium Billardieri and Alsophila Australis
(of which the former is rather astringent and dry for a European
palate, and the latter, though more tolerable, is yet scarcely
equal to a Swedish turnip); the young shoots of the Pteris
esculenti, common ferns, as they emerge from the ground full
of viscid mucous juice and various epiphytic fungi, of which
one of the most important is that which grows on the Eucalypti,
and is known, when. dry, under the name of Punk, and used as
a tinder in the Colony. Punk, when young, is nearly snow-white,
[26/27] soft, and, to the taste, insipid, with a distant flavour
of mushroom; in this stage they eat it freely, either raw or
slightly roasted. The Cyttaria of the myrtle tree, a small
morelle-looking, honeycombed fungus, growing upon a fine pedicle,
was a great favourite; but that which afforded the largest amount
of solid and substantial nutritious matter was the native
bread, a fungus growing in the ground, after the manner of
the truffle, and generally so near the roots of trees as to be
reputed parasitical. Several mushrooms were also eaten by them;
the onion-like leaves of some orchids, and the tubers of several
plants of this tribe, were largely consumed by them, particularly
those of Gastrodi sessamoides, the native potato, so called
by the colonists, though never tasted by them, and having not
the most remote relation to the plant of that name, except in
a little resemblance of the tubers, in shape and appearance,
to the kidney potato. The green seed-vessels of Acacia sophora,
A. maritima, and several others were eaten freely by them,
after having been half roasted by the fire; the amylaceous roots
of the bulrush were roasted and eaten by them, together [27/28]
with the carrot-like roots of some small umbelliferae. Of berries
and fruits of which they partook, the principal were those of
Solanum laciniatum, or kangaroo apple, when dead ripe,
of Leucopogon gnidium and ericoides, of certain
species of Coprosma, of the Gualtheria hispida,
the Bitlardiera longiflora, of Cyathodes, &c.
&c. Besides these the leaf of the larger kelp, whenever it
could be obtained, was eagerly looked for and greedily eaten,
after having undergone a process of roasting and maceration in
fresh water, followed by a second roasting, when, though tough,
and too much like sole leather, it is susceptible of mastication,
and, no doubt, nutritious. The women shaved their hair completely
off; the men wore it long, and gave it a mop-like form and appearance
by smearing it with fat of the wombat and kangaroo, and then
daubing it full of red ochre, by which it was made to hang in
corkscrews all around, and over the face and neck down to the
shoulders; the women went about usually quite bald, and devoid
of covering; frequently, however, they wore a fillet of gay flowers,
of festoons of showy berries, or strings of shells, upon [28/29]
their bare heads. They also wore a strip of the skin of wallaby
or kangaroo under the knee, in place of a garter, or around the
wrist or ankle. Other covering or ornament the aborigines had
none, save and except the symmetrical lines of scars raised by
incisions made, and long kept open, across the chest, and upon
the arms and thighs--a practice to which the women appear often
to have submitted, though more characteristic of the men their
masters. It was rarely the custom amongst them to select wives
from their own tribes, but rather to take them furtively, or
by open force, from neighbouring clans; they were monogamous,
but the practice of divorce was recognised, and acted upon, on
incompatibility of disposition and habits, as well as on grosser
cause given. Tasmanian lords had no difficulty, and made no scruple,
about a succession of wives, and would thus occasionally, after
temporary separation, readjust differences, and live happily
ever after with their 'first loves:' still they never kept more
than one wife at one time. They were polytheists; that is, they
believed in guardian angels or spirits, and in a plurality of
powerful [29/30] but generally evil-disposed beings, inhabiting
crevices and caverns of rocky mountains, and making temporary
abode in hollow trees and solitary valleys: of these a few were
supposed to be of great power, while to the majority were imputed
much of the nature and attributes of the goblins and elves of
our native land. The aborigines were extremely superstitious,
believing most implicitly in the return of the spirits of their
departed friends and relations to bless or injure them, as the
case might be; and they often carried about with them one or
other of the bones of the deceased as a charm against adversity.
Bones of the leg, arm, foot, and hand, the lower jaw, and even
the skull, have in this way, and for this purpose, been found
suspended round the necks of individuals amongst them. With respect
to the burial of the dead, some of the tribes were in the habit
of burning the remains; in which cases the ashes were some time
taken up very carefully, and carried about as an amulet, to ward
off sickness, and to ensure success in hunting and in war. Other
tribes placed their dead in hollow trees, surrounded with implements
of the chase and of war, building [30/31] them in with pieces
of wood gathered in the neighbourhood; while others would look
out for natural graves; made by the upturn of large trees, and
there deposit the bodies of their dead, leaving them but slightly
covered with stones and loose earth. Long after Tasmania was
first occupied, tribes have been met numbering more than one
hundred. As European population crept in and increased, and their
flocks and herds spread over the country, sanguinary feuds often
arose between the original inhabitants and the stockmen and shepherds,
usually terminating most fatally to the former. The inferior
race has slowly but steadily yielded; and though long succoured
and protected, there is now a mere handful of the aboriginal
inhabitants left, maintained, however, in ease and comfort upon
a Government establishment."

Tasman's Island

The present population of the island consists of fourteen
individuals, five of Captain Smith's family, five men servants,
two women, and two children. The greater part of its 480,000
acres is rock and scrub, as useless for pastoral as for agricultural
purposes. There is, however, some good land; for Mr. Benvenuto
Smith told us that [31/32] they obtained an average crop of thirty
bushels to the acre from the thirty acres laid down in wheat;
the land, it should be borne in mind, is most scantily helped
with manure. Ten acres are sown with turnips, or plants with
potatoes; about 1,200 acres may be reckoned upon as fit for pasture.
An accurate survey, however, might tell a different tale.

Their stock seems large in proportion to their wants. They
number about 150 horned cattle, including several bulls, which
have taken to the bush and run wild. They are, as might be expected,
both fierce and dangerous. More than once Captain Smith has had
to run or climb tree for his life. Before we left Hobart Town
we were promised the exciting sight of a bull bunt; but the lessee's
absence prevented it from taking place. Their sheep are reckoned
at about 500. They have eight tame horses, and several run about
the island as free and as wild as the bulls themselves.

The greatest drawback to the ordinary comforts of the inhabitants
is the bad quality of the water, which, I am told, is becoming
more brackish year [32/33] after year. They are entirely dependent
upon rain-water for most domestic, and for all culinary purposes.

This vast territory of 480,000 acres is let to Captain Smith
for ten years, at a rental of 100l. per annum, the lessee
having the usufruct of all the stock that was upon it at the
commencement of his lease; his covenant being to return the same
number at its termination.

There was no possibility of holding divine service here during
the few hours of our stay; the scanty number of inhabitants being
engaged upon their several occupations, and most of them far
a-field. One little girl was brought by her mother to be baptized.

On our way to the beach Mr. Power picked up a grizzled old
seaman named Parish, who professed to be thoroughly acquainted
with the intricate navigation of Franklin Inlet, which was the
next place that we proposed to visit. Whilst Mr. Power was conducting
the treaty with him as to our pilotage, I employed myself in
sketching our distant anchorage.

We carried off our new pilot to the schooner, [33/34] which
we reached at half-past eleven. Everything on board was ready
for our immediate departure; so no time was lost in getting under
way.

A fine steady breeze, which freshened as the afternoon drew
on, took us past the dark granite peaks of Flinders, 2,350 feet
in height, and brought us into Franklin Inlet. We soon had proof
that we had shipped a most untrustworthy pilot. Our smart little
vessel was running along under a seven-knot breeze, all sail
set, and the wind right aft. So far as we could see, there was
neither outlet nor passage in the direction towards which we
were steering. On inquiring of the pilot where he intended to
take us, he pointed to a spot which seemed to me to be nothing
more than a reef, joining the extremity of Flinders to Dog Island.
On mentioning my surmise to him (which, by the way, was strengthened
by an observation through the telescope), he said that there
was a narrow passage which he well knew; that once passed, a
snug harbour awaited us round Flinders Island. I had very serious
misgivings, but said no more.

Within ten minutes all doubts were at an end. [34/35] We had
scarcely passed Woody and Tinkettle Islands, when we were suddenly
brought up, "all standing." We had struck upon a sandspit,
so completely on the edge, that within a stone's throw there
were five or six fathoms of water. Happily for us it was almost
low water; and as the tide in this inlet rises eight feet, we
had every hope of getting off before dark. In an hour and a half
our deliverance was effected, and at half-past five we floated
off into deep water. The wind was increasing, the sea rising,
our daylight fast waning; so Captain King thought it more prudent
to cast anchor at once than to attempt the narrow passage of
which our pilot spoke so confidently. It was well, as it afterwards
appeared, that we did so.

It was almost dark when the boat of one of the sealers, Beadon,
from Guncarriage or Vansittart Island, came to the rescue. The
prudence of our course was abundantly confirmed.

It blew hard all night from the W.S.W., and a tumbling, though
not heavy sea, was the consequence.

Grass Tree

[36] FRIDAY, 6th.

Still blowing hard; bitterly cold; no prospect of getting
on shore to-day unless the wind moderates considerably; for,
though the wind in this quarter would allow us to reach Guncarriage
Island, our return would be almost impossible.

There was a lull in the afternoon. Mr. Power and I took advantage
of it, and went ashore to Flinders. A scramble through the bush
brought us to a goodly collection of grass-trees, with which
this part of the island is thickly studded.

An inspection of the reef, through the intricate passage of
which our pilot had proposed to take the schooner, convinced
ns that we had good reason to be thankful for having grounded
on the sandspit last evening. Had not our course been thus providentially
arrested, the total destruction of our sea-home would have been
inevitable. Our guide overlooked the difference between the draught
of a whale-boat and a schooner of ninety tons. We must have been
smashed to pieces.

Our convictions were confirmed in the evening when Tucker,
the most experienced mariner and [36/37] oldest resident in this
quarter, came off from Guncarriage, and made arrangements with
us for to-morrow's work. It was settled that, weather permitting,
we should attempt the landing in his boat soon after breakfast
to-morrow.

SATURDAY, 7th.

It was about eight o'clock when Tucker (who, with his companions,
had passed the night at Dog Island) came alongside. The weather
was still so dark and threatening as to render our passage to
Guncarriage a matter of doubt, on the score of prudence, as well
as of safety. The distance is not above five miles; but the rapidity
with which a heavy sea gets up in tempestuous weather, renders
the transit somewhat perilous at times.

About half-past ten the gale moderated; the heavy rain ceased.
We embraced the opportunity afforded us by the lull, and set
sail. Nothing could be more favourable than our passage, until
we were within a short distance of our destination. The increasing
darkness, the sullen roar of the [37/38] gale, the whitening
waters,--all portended the coming mischief. For some few minutes
past Tucker had been looking anxiously around him.

"We shall have it," he suddenly exclaimed; "stand
by the halyards!" The words were scarcely out of his mouth,
when the whole fury of the sweeping tempest struck us at once.
Our experienced boatmen were well prepared for what had, doubtless,
happened to them many times before. It was the work of a moment
to take in the foresail, to house the sprit, and to make all
snug. It was well for us, perhaps, that the main-sheet was torn
from the iron grasp of our powerful chief boatman, James Beadon.
Had he retained his hold one instant longer, we should have come
in for a severe drenching. As it was, the accident only facilitated
our shortening sail. Less than ten minutes brought us to our
anchorage. It was high time; for in that little space a heavy
sea had got up, and a furious rain was falling. On our mounting
up to Tucker's house,--picturesquely perched upon a rock almost
overhanging, the sea,--we found that the most hospitable preparations
had been made to welcome us on our arrival. A [38/39] pan full
of potatoes was ready to be put upon the fire; a fore-quarter
of goat was stowed away in a curious contrivance, which formed
a substitute both for oven and for spit, reminding me forcibly
of a similar feat of ingenuity which I had seen, twenty years
ago, in the Apennines; the welcome kettle, too, was boiling,
in order to make the tea which was destined to garnish our dinner-board.

We were abundantly thankful at being well housed; the storm
increased within a quarter of an hour of our landing, the gale
had increased to a hurricane, the rain was driving against the
casement in furious and fitful torrents, the sea, as we looked
upon it from the streaming window, was white with foam, and the
wind howled and raved through every chink and crevice of our
frail tenement. I have been tolerably familiar with wild weather
in the course of my many rambles; I have rarely met with such
a land storm.

An early breakfast rendered an early dinner far from undesirable.
By the time that we had finished the gale had slightly lulled,
and the rain ceased altogether. It blew hard, but clear. We sallied
forth to see the inhabitants at their [39/40] own houses. I should
observe, that they were formerly known as "sealers,"
the remnant of a roving race, that went from island to island
in the Straits, picking up a precarious subsistence from the
skins of their captured prey. The seals have now nearly deserted
these parts, so that their old enemies have betaken them to another
employment. They live chiefly now by the sale of the oil and
feathers of the mutton birds (or sooty petrels), which periodically
visit these islands in myriads.

As we went from house to house (Mr. Power, who had visited
this island some years ago, being our guide), we came, at last,
to the residence of the "greatest lady" it has ever
been my good fortune to encounter. Lucy Beadon, a noble-looking
half-caste of some twenty-five years of age, bears the burden
of twenty-three stone. Good-humoured and kind-hearted, she is
every one's friend upon the island. High-minded, and earnest
in her Christian profession, she has set herself to work to do
good in her generation. From the pure love of those around her,
she daily gathers together the children of the sealers, and [40/41]
does her best to impart to them the rudiments both of secular
and religious knowledge.

Tucker, it seems, had made known our coming to all within
his reach; so that there was a considerable increase made to
the ordinary inhabitants of Guncarriage from the adjacent islands.
Some had brought their children to be baptized; others had come
to lean tidings of their absent friends; all had strained their
utmost to reach the island, in the earnest hope of hearing the
word of God.

In the afternoon I baptized six children, all half-castes.
One of them, a boy of two years of age, was as magnificent a
little fellow as I ever saw. His large full black eyes, and finely
formed features, would have done honour to any parentage. Soon
after the administration of this sacrament, I united an old sealer,
Edward Mansell, to Judy Thomas, an aboriginal woman. Upon investigating
the facts of the case, I was glad to find that the best motives
induced the man to repair past sin and folly by an union with
this woman, aged as she was. She, poor creature, could with difficulty
repeat the necessary words of the service. Indeed, her English,
if such it could be called, [41/42] was such as to elicit a violent
explosion of mirth on the part of the bridegroom; an unseemliness
which was promptly repressed and rebuked by Captain King, who
acted as father upon the occasion.

Before the evening closed in, Mr. Power and I took a long
tramp over this wild but picturesque little island. Prepared
as we were to meet the wind's rude buffeting, we could scarcely
keep our legs when we mounted on the topmost ridge. A glorious
prospect greeted us, when, screened by the rocks, we could rest
quietly under their lee, and enjoy the scenery. Before us were
the long low flats of Cape Barren Island, whereon many a stout
vessel had been driven and broken up. The countless sunken rocks
and broken bottom between Flinders and Guncarriage have caused
such an almost incessant turmoil, that few places are so fraught
with dread and danger to the coaster. The name of "Pot-boil,"
given to the strait that divides the two islands, sufficiently
indicates both its character and its perils.

To the left were the wild jagged peaks of Flinders, lit up
with the gorgeous colours of a [42/43] stormy sunset. It was
a magnificent sight; but the rough nature of the ground which
we had to traverse in our descent, warned us that it was not
wise to linger too long upon the tempting scene before us.

Soon after dusk we returned to our hospitable quarters, where
we found tea awaiting us. Our host, Tucker, and his active little
Hindoo wife, were delighted at the proposal to close our evening
with prayer.

Tired as I was, I got but little sleep. The smell of mutton-bird
feathers, and the incessant invasion of the fleas, who appeared
to be the autocqoneV of the island,
would effectually have "murdered sleep," even on the
stillest night; but the wind howled and raved to such an extent
as to make every timber in the crazy tenement rock and quiver
with its fury.

SUNDAY, 8th.

It was no wonder that we were made wakeful and watchful by
last night's storm. Tucker told us that he had not known such
a fearful gale, even in this tempestuous region, for the last
seven [43/44] years. On walking out after breakfast, I was amused
by witnessing a striking instance of primitive hospitality. I
have before mentioned, that an unusual addition was made to the
ordinary population of the island in consequence of our arrival.
The visitors had been abundantly cared for. On the previous evening
I had observed that Beadon had selected a fine fat goat from
out the herd, and borne him away upon his brawny shoulders. This
morning I witnessed his remains. The defunct had been hung upon
a sort of gallows; every man was his own butcher, and cut his
slice or joint, according to his fancy. A thorough-bred practitioner
would have been horrified at seeing all the mysteries of his
craft cast aside, and the seemliness of the carcase sacrificed
at the shrine of "private judgment." Our kind hostess
(I should not fail to record) had devised a special dainty for
the Bishop, which satisfied me that our tastes differed, and
that we entertained widely opposite opinions upon the mysteries
of cookery. To this hour I am ignorant of the component parts
of the dish; but I shall always entertain a shrewd suspicion
that I was entrapped into commencing the demolition of a fat
pancake fried in mutton-bird oil.

At ten o'clock we had divine service at Tucker's house, the
bedroom being opened, so as to increase the accommodation. Every
inhabitant and every visitor on the island was present. Our congregation
numbered twenty-eight, and a more quiet, orderly, and attentive
gathering I never witnessed. It was with a solemn sense of the
privilege conferred upon me, that there, in that little storm-girt
hut, the winds and the sea roaring around us, I, as the first
minister of God that had set foot upon the island, from the dawn
of creation until then, commenced the humble offering of prayer
and praise to that creation's Lord. There was a deep earnestness,
too, with which my half-caste congregation joined in the several
parts of the service, that I should be glad to witness in more
educated and polished gatherings of Christian worshippers. There
was a heartiness in their responses, a fervour in their repetition
of the creeds, which gave good evidence that their hearts were
in their holy work. They required no bidding, no hint even, that
it is an unseemly thing for the [45/46] "miserable sinner"
to sit leisurely down, whilst professing to pour out his very
soul in penitent confession to his God. These simple half-castes,
the last relics of the union of aboriginal women with the sealers,
had taken the Prayer-book as their guide, and did not set up
their own private fancies, or their own rebellious will, against
its plain injunctions; they were not too proud to kneel.

Their psalmody, too, was correct, and touching in its expressiveness;
timid at first, the women soon recovered courage, and, led by
Tucker's manly voice, sang two hymns with an accuracy and fervour
that would have done credit to a well-trained village choir.
The second lesson for the day suggested the text, and, as I preached
to them from Mark xi. 17, I felt that this was, for the time
being, "the House of Prayer" indeed.

After the service I had some conversation with Tucker upon
the manners and habits of. the people. I was pleased to find,
from his account, that there was so much simplicity of character
and correctness of demeanour amongst them. I could see for myself
that there was an air of [46/47] quiet domestic union amongst
them all, that told well for their ordinary way of life. The
men appeared sober, active, and intelligent; the women were unmistakeably
modest and retiring in their manner. Tucker told me that drunkenness
was, if not unknown amongst them, held in severe reprobation;
whilst other crimes which, in more polished communities, are
regarded as venial trespasses, are looked upon with abhorrence
by these simple islanders. It was with tears in his eyes that
Tucker told me of the comfort and consolation that he had derived
from his Bible, and, in its interpretation, from the Prayer-book,
which he had taken as the guide to his devotions with a child's
simple trust.

The truths which he so appreciated himself he had endeavoured
to teach to others. No Sunday passed without his assembling his
friends and neighbours, for the purpose of prayer and reading
of the Scriptures; again the Prayer-book was the guide, both
of himself and others; and, in conducting the details of his
humble Sabbath worship, he spoke of the blessedness of having
so safe a monitor.

[48] After dinner I again visited each family in turn, and
then was glad to wander forth alone, to think and thank--to bless
God for the opportunity vouchsafed to me of delivering His message
to those who hitherto had never heard it from the lips of one
of His appointed messengers; and yet the thankfulness was tinged
with sorrow, too, for I felt how long it might, and probably
would be, ere I could hope to set foot upon this place again,
even if life and health were spared.

It was dark before I reached the landing-place on my return.
Preparations were being made for our immediate departure to the
schooner, which Captain King was anxious to rejoin at the earliest
possible period. The wind had lulled considerably, the tide would
serve within half an hour, our scanty amount of baggage was already
on the beach. Our intended return to the vessel was soon known;
with one exception (and that on the score of feeble health),
every human being in the island came down to the rocks to bid
us God speed and farewell; we were laden with presents. Lucy
Beadon and her sister-in-law brought their little offerings of
shells and [48/49] sea-weed; Mrs. Tucker loaded us with milk,
cakes (not the fat pancake), shells, and shell necklaces; we
had a difficulty in declining to add goat's flesh to our stores:
experience had shown us that it was strong rather than palatable
food. We set forward on our voyage with the hearty and affectionate
farewells of these simple-hearted people; two hours' sail brought
us to the schooner about ten o'clock. Our passage would have
been more rapidly made, had not prudence suggested the expediency
of our making a long board, in order to avoid the discomfort
of tossing over the broken waters of a shoal which was right
in our course; we drew near enough to hear the wild roaring of
the waters: it was enough to convince us that the wind and tide
were struggling for the mastery, and that the less we interfered
in the contest the better, especially in the dark.

MONDAY, 9th.

A wet, gloomy, and drizzly morning; it was, nevertheless,
our obvious course to press onwards, as all our work here was
done; so, soon after [49/50] eight, we weighed anchor. The wind
was light and variable, so that it was late in the afternoon
before we got under the shelter of Clarke's and Preservation
Island. Too wet to go on shore.

TUESDAY, 10th.

After an early breakfast, Mr. Power and I made preparations
for visiting Clarke's Island. We were anticipated by the arrival
of a Dr. Allen, who had resided there for some few years, and
to whom Mr. Power was commissioned to give the formal notice
to quit, as a defaulter in rent to the land fund. In consequence
of this visit, we postponed our expedition to the afternoon,
and went instead to Preservation Island, where he had to serve
a similar notice on Dr. Allen's brother, who had quietly established
himself and 300 sheep thereon, without licence or authority.
Dr. Allen took off our pilot, whose services, never worth much,
were now no longer required. It seemed to be but a forlorn expedition
on which the poor fellow had resolved to start; however, as it
was his own choice, we had nothing but [50/51] remonstrance to
offer in opposition. His intention was to land on Cape Barren
Island (a spot that well deserves its name), and from thence
to work his way through the bush and scrub to the shore opposite
Tinkettle Island, where, by lighting a fire, he hoped to attract
the attention of the one or two inhabitants of the latter place,
and so to tempt them to bring off a boat for his rescue.

Our mission to Preservation was satisfactorily accomplished.
The Surveyor-General delivered his cartel, and had his bathe;
I had my quiet talk with the two solitary inhabitants of the
place, and afterwards took a ramble and a sketch; our boatmen
were profitably employed in cutting green food for the goat.

We returned to the schooner in order to give the men time
for their dinner, before proceeding to visit Dr. Allen and his
household at Clarke's Island. A grim, wild-looking man met us
on the beach, immediately on our stepping out of the boat; he
told us a sad tale of disappointment. His name was Robinson,
a son of the benevolent individual to whom I have already alluded,
as [51/52] having established so strong a hold upon the confidence
of the Aborigines. He was brother-in-law to Dr. Allen, who, it
seems, had beguiled him to leave Port Phillip, where he was settled
in tolerable comfort, and to embark himself, his sheep, and fortunes,
on the barren shores of Clarke's Island.

He offered his services as our pilot to Dr. Allen's house.
I was anxious to renew with this person a conversation that had
been commenced between us on board respecting the baptism of
his children. He had been upwards of eight years upon the island,
living a secluded and semi-savage life, cut off from all contact
with his fellows, and gradually, as it would appear, becoming
as rough and wild as the uncultivated scenes around him.

A mile's walk brought us to his house, the external aspect
of which presented a greater air of comfort than I could have
anticipated. His wife was seated by the fire with a fine, filthy
baby of some twelve or fourteen months, of age in her lap. Seven
other sturdy, dirty children were huddled together in various
groups; some [52/53] creeping close to the blazing logs that
were heaped up in the huge fire-place; others peeping at us from
behind those who were more in advance; all ill clad, and worse
mannered, shrinking, as it would seem, from the eye of the stranger.

During our conversation on board, Dr. Allen had intimated
to me his own personal indifference as to the baptism of his
children; he regarded it as a perfectly idle ceremony, to which
people might or might not conform, just as their inclination
or private judgment led them. He was "not of my Church,"
he said. Years ago he had been a Presbyterian; but, latterly,
he had regarded himself as belonging to no Church, being content,
as he averred, simply to "follow Christ;" in fact,
he was a "Christian unattached." He emphatically disowned
all respect for ordinances, rites, and ceremonies; as to baptism,
as one of them, he did not, for his own part, wish his children
"to be subjected to it." However, he said, their mother
was a member of the Church of England. If she wished it, he had
no objection; he should refer the matter to her on his return
home, and abide by her decision.

[54] I saw at once the hopelessness of arguing the point with
him; after trying him upon one or two other topics, I was at
no loss to take accurate measure of the mind of the man with
whom I had to deal. He was one of those shallow dogmatists, whose
fixedness of opinion was in exact proportion to its hollowness.

Soon after our arrival at his house, the subject was renewed
by myself; for there was yet a lingering hope that the isolated
life which his wife had led had not altogether obliterated every
trace of love and respect for the sacraments of the Church; it
was a vain hope, as the result proved. The subject had already
been manifestly discussed between them; my impression was, that
his authority had cowed and overawed her. Be this as it may,
she said that she had no particular objection, nor any particular
desire,--she was perfectly indifferent; wished to do what her
husband liked; and concluded by referring the matter to him.
I reminded her briefly of her obligations and responsibility
as a Christian mother, and as a professed member of the Church
of England. It was to no purpose; she again [54/55] referred
to her husband's decision: that, of course, was in the negative.
So the poor misguided woman deliberately rejected the sacrament
of Christ, and robbed her children of the privilege of being
taken out of the great family of the world, and being brought
into the covenanted household of Almighty God.

My mission here was ended, so we returned to the schooner.
A breeze from the N.E. sprung up as the evening closed in, which
allowed us to weigh anchor at half-past eight, and to work out
to the open sea on to Circular Head.

WEDNESDAY, 11th.

We had not been above an hour on our course before the breeze
freshened into a furious gale, and a tumbling night we had of
it. In the morning the wind had increased rather than abated,
and, from the thick haze, it was hard to tell our exact position.
As the wind was now gradually heading us and considerably freshening,
it was thought advisable to stand in for the coast, in order
that we might ascertain where we were; [55/56] the gathering
gloom rendering all ordinary observations impossible. Sundry
indications, well known to three or four of our party, to whom
the coast was more or less familiar, told us that we were abreast
of the Mersey, having outrun our reckoning by some thirty-eight
miles in about fourteen hours; we then determined to seek shelter
within George Town Heads, and to wait for a fair wind, our progress
westward being, under existing circumstances, impossible.

We had a rapid run along the coast, a few hours bringing us
out of a heavy rolling sea into comparatively smooth water. The
anchor was dropped about four o'clock, and we were comforting
ourselves with the prospect of approaching dinner, after a long
fast.--"Up anchor again," for our berth was unsafe
as well as uneasy. Captain King wisely determined to proceed
at once to George Town Cove, where we were soon at as perfect
rest as though we had been on shore.

My old friend, Mr. Pringle Stuart, the police magistrate at
George Town, came on board in the evening with a bundle of newspapers,
which [56/57] informed us of what had been doing in Hobart Town
during our absence.

THURSDAY, 12th.

Not quite so easy a night as we had anticipated; it blew so
furious that we "dragged our anchor," and got aground
upon a sand-bank.

After breakfast the police-boat came off, and took me on shore.
Two pleasant hours were spent with Mr. Stuart; after which, I
went with Mr. Fereday, the chaplain, to inspect the church, the
roof of which had been seriously damaged during the late heavy
gales. On board again at twelve, in the hope of getting under
way; still hard and fast, we must wait until the next tide.

The schoolmaster, Fraser, came on board for the purpose of
soliciting my mediation with the Governor, for procuring his
conditional pardon. His case is one of the many sorrowful instances
with which we meet in this land, of the fearful consequences
of yielding to a strong temptation to commit a positive sin for
the purpose of gaining a possible advantage.

George Town

[58] By birth and education this man was a gentleman, and
most bitterly does he seem to feel the degradation of his altered
position. His story, according to his own telling, is this. He
was deeply embarked in Captain Warner's "long range"
scheme, which, when brought to completion, was expected to prove
a very mine of wealth. In order to facilitate the enterprise,
he forged a power of attorney and sold out a portion of his wife's
property, vested in trustees, with the full conviction of being
able to replace it without the knowledge of any one; but One,
who saw, baffled his calculations. Then came discovery,--disgrace,--the
trial,--the conviction,--transportation: after having filed several
subordinate situations, he is now glad to earn his subsistence
by teaching in the village school. I know nothing of his character,
nor am I aware how he has demeaned himself in his different vocations.
His school is well conducted, and, at all events, experience
has proved that "indulgence," granted to a prisoner
of the Crown, has been commonly productive of beneficial and
reformatory results, even when the antecedents of [58/59] the
man would scarcely have justified the expectation of much better
things.

FRIDAY, 13th.

Once more in deep water; a fair wind up the river. Having
some stores to deliver at Launceston, Captain King decided upon
taking advantage of it, instead of waiting until our return from
the westward. A portion of our cargo consisted of two thirty-six
pounders, which were intended for the defence of the newly-built
fort at Launceston. As they have neither artillerymen, nor powder,
nor ball, I fear that the guns will not add much to the security
of the good town of Launceston.

Windermere on the Tamar

A run of a few hours up the picturesque Tamar brought us to
Launceston at four in the afternoon. I was speedily housed in
the hospitable house of Mrs. Landale.

SATURDAY, 14th,

We all had reason to be glad of our detention. Mr. Power found
that business required his [59/60] presence in Hobart Town. Captain
King discovered that fresh orders awaited him, and I was rejoiced
to find myself in time to take my part in the opening services
at the little chapel in the new district of St. Paul's. As the
warden of the College had been already invited and announced
to preach in the morning, I did not desire to disturb the arrangement;
so I settled to preach at Trinity Church in the morning and evening
of to-morrow, and to be at St. Paul's in the afternoon.

SUNDAY, 15th.

The crowded state of our little chapel evinced the interest
taken in the establishment of Divine service therein by those
for whose benefit it was more immediately instituted. It is situated
in a poor outlying district of Launceston, which has outgrown
the powers of the chaplain of St. John's to pay it that close
attention which is neces6ry. Some months ago, Mr. William Henty
and I walked up to the high land that overlooks the town, which
was spread out as a map before us; he then drew my attention
to this district, [60/61] and inquired whether it was not possible
to form it into a separate parish; the plan was resolved upon
on the instant, and subsequently matured, chiefly through the
instrumentality of himself and Mr. Cleveland. I have abundant
reason to thank God for the earnestness of purpose with which
this good work has been carried on, as well as for the harmony
that has characterised the proceedings of all who have taken
part in it.

At present a small building (used formerly as a school-room)
is temporarily fitted up, so as to serve the twofold purposes
of school and chapel. Subscriptions are being raised for the
erection of a church; but, as the contributions are small, being
gathered chiefly from those to whom it is an act of self-denial
to give at all, years will probably elapse before we shall be
able to complete it.

Mr. Banks Smith, whose services have hitherto been restricted
to Newnham, near Launceston, will divide his labours between
that place and the new district. He has been so warmly commended
to me by Mr. Henty, who has had experience of the value of his
ministrations, that [61/62] I have no hesitation in confiding
a more enlarged sphere of duty to his charge.

THURSDAY, 19th.

After various delays our party once more reassembled, and
we quitted Launceston for our western expedition. The wind was
foal, so that we made but little progress. The darkness of the
night rendered it a matter of prudence to anchor in Spring Bay.

FRIDAY, 20th.

With the early morning tide we worked down to Whirlpool Reach
and anchored again. I took advantage of the delay to pay a visit
to the Presbyterian clergyman, Mr. Garrett, whose pretty parsonage,
built on a rising ground from the river, forms a picturesque
object from every point of view. Our reception was as cordial
and as courteous as though he had been a clergyman of our own
communion. The tide served in the afternoon, and allowed us to
reach our anchorage at George Town before dark.

[63] SATURDAY, 21st.

Went on shore; visited the school, and examined the children.
Whilst in Launceston, I had embraced the opportunity of speaking
to Sir William Denison respecting Fraser's conditional pardon.
I was glad to communicate to the poor fellow Sir William's promise
to do all in his power to effect the desired object. But Governors
must steer by regulations.

In the afternoon we shifted our ground, and anchored in Pilot's
Cove, close to the Merrington, a large emigrant ship of
800 tons, which had just arrived from England. Her passengers
were chiefly miners from South Wales, under contract to the owners
of the coal mines at the Mersey.

Made arrangements for proceeding to-morrow in the police-boat
to George Town for Divine service.

SUNDAY, 22d.

The church being under repair, Divine service was conducted
in the school-room; a most scanty [63/64] congregation, affording
painful evidence of the little love entertained by the people
of George Town for the sacred ordinances of the Church. The room,
it is true, was tolerably full--of children: the adults did not
number more than ten.

Soon after the conclusion of the service we embarked on board
the police-boat, and went to the Merrington, where I had
arranged to celebrate Divine service in the afternoon. It was
too squally and boisterous to allow our congregation to assemble
on the poop. The cuddy, therefore, served us for our chapel;
and there I had the gratification of ministering to a devout,
orderly, and crowded congregation. Every convenient arrangement
had been made with great, care and judgment by the captain's
wife.

One important portion of the emigrants was, to a great extent,
absent,--I mean the miners. Not being desirous of leaving the
ship without giving them a word of welcome to their new home,
as well as Christian counsel for their guidance, I requested
that they might be assembled on the quarter-deck, so as to give
me the opportunity of addressing them from the poop,--so far
as the [64/65] weather would permit me to speak and them to hear.
If I might judge from appearances, they were interested, and
that deeply, in all that they heard.

It was a relief after the day's work to enjoy the quiet peacefulness
of our little cabin on board the schooner.

MONDAY, 23d.

It was blowing too hard to allow anything to be done beyond
the ordinary ship's work; and there was too much surf on shore
to render it possible for the captain to land his cargo of coals,
which had been shipped for the use of the pilots and lighthouse
at this station. As the day advanced, the gale freshened from
the west, and compelled us to let go another anchor. We were
detained here, by stress of weather, until

SATURDAY, 28th,

when, soon after sunrise, we worked out of the Heads. We had
not proceeded far before the wind freshened, and a heavy tumbling
sea was [65/66] the consequence. Both pilot and captain were
overcome with human infirmities for awhile. Our pilot endeavoured
to take us into Port Sorell: the heavy sea that was raving across
the bar rendered it prudent for him to wear ship, and stand out
again to sea. Our course was then directed to the Mersey; the
main purport of our visit being to lay down buoys and beacons
for the purpose of facilitating the entrance of vessels into
this beautiful but narrow-mouthed harbour. It was a stormy passage;
the surf was high upon the bar upon our arrival; but our skilful
pilot, Begent, brought us safely through our difficulties, and
anchored us, late in the evening, in the quiet outer basin of
the river. The contrast was instantaneous. Ten minutes brought
us out of a rolling turbulent sea into water as smooth and as
tranquil as that of a lake.

It is a noble basin in which we are lying so snugly; perfectly
landlocked, except at the narrow winding entrance, the tall gum
and peppermint trees coming down to the water's edge. To the
left lies the township, consisting of a few wooden houses, two
composed of the more imposing [66/67] material, brick; several
tents, too, evincing the conviction of their proprietors that
no needless time is to be lost in providing comforts, if they
are to make their way in the world, and are not to be jostled
out by more enterprising neighbours.

Made arrangements with the Mersey pilot, Lambert, for Divine
service, to-morrow morning, at Torquay, the only township as
yet on the banks of the river.

SUNDAY, 29th.

An unfinished room in an incomplete house served us for a
chapel, where we gathered together a quiet orderly congregation
of nearly fifty.

In the afternoon, Mr. Power and myself went in the schooner's
boat about five miles up the river, in order to Itoceed to the
Denison Mines, where the emigrants who arrived by the Merrington
had been established. At the western extremity of the second
or inner basin of the river, a small inlet, called Ballahoo Creek,
runs for some distance inland; we disembarked at its commencement,
where a convenient landing-place had been made, [67/68] for the
purpose of shipping timber. A walk of about a mile through the
bush brought us to a long range of ten wooden huts, which were
in the course of erection for the accommodation of the new corners;
just beyond these were the works that had been already built
at the mines, the tall chimney, the engine-room, and the forge.

It was rainy and squally, rendering it necessary for me to
forego the intention of assembling the people for Divine service
in the open air; the superintendent, Mr. Zephaniah Williams,
placed the large room in his house at my disposal, where, within
half an hour of our arrival, our congregation was assembled.

There did not seem to be the same amount of readiness (except
in words) to welcome the proposal for the celebration of Divine
service that has so often gladdened my heart when' wandering
in the bush; but this is easily accounted for. These South Welsh
miners are almost all Wesleyans, and, as such, have no very cordial
feeling towards the ordinances of the Church of England. Even
here they have their "local preachers," who had conducted
their worship in the morning; it was [68/69] not surprising that
this should have damped the willingness of their hearers to listen
to services of another character. The room, however, was tolerably
well filled; our congregation was manifestly unused to the ritual
of the Church of England, but few of them thinking it necessary
to kneel when offering up their petitions to Almighty God. It
was painful to see that there was but little heart in their devotions,
the touching prayers of our Church being apparently to them nothing
beyond the bare form or ceremony; listless as they were here,
they paid marked attention to the sermon.

I was much interested in my conversation with Zephaniah Williams.
In an evil hour he joined the chartist disturbances that took
place, years ago, in South Wales, and was sent over to the colony
in company with Frost and Jones; since his residence in Tasmania,
he has conducted himself with great propriety and industry. It
is to him that we are indebted for the discovery of coal at Newtown,
and it is to his skill and enterprise that the proprietors of
the Denison Mines must look to conduct their speculation to a
successful issue. The coal is [69/70] of an excellent quality,
and, if found in sufficient abundance, and at no great distance
from the surface, must amply remunerate all who axe concerned.
He himself as part proprietor, has a deep interest in the success
of his endeavours. His wife and daughters, after a separation
of many years, rejoined him by the Merrington; they do
not appear to be enamoured of a bush life, for the rough details
of which they were manifestly not prepared; in their estimation,
the wild liberty does not compensate for the isolation and privations.

MONDAY, 30th.

Rode over with Mr. Power to the hospitable house of the Rev.
J. Bishton, at Pardoe. On to Port Sorell, where we arranged with
Mr. Nicholls, the police magistrate, to go to-morrow to the settlement
across the river Forth. Rode over to the township of Burgess,
situated at what may, more properly, be called "Port Sorell."
When conversing with an intelligent settler, Captain Robinson,
respecting the projected pier, and other contemplated improvements,
he told us that, when [70/71] we were standing in on Saturday,
every one on shore was anxiously watching our proceedings. Those
who were well acquainted with the soundings were in momentary
expectation of seeing us smashed to pieces on the dangerous sunken
rock which lies in front of the entrance; but our pilot knew
what he was about; in fact we rounded it.

TUESDAY, 31st.

We were busily employed in writing for the post, when the
signal was made from the shore that Mr. Nicholls was in waiting
with the horses; Mr. Power, Captain King, and myself went in
the boat to the opposite (or western) shore, leaving the horses
to be ferried across, a proceeding at which the poor animals
most vigorously rebel, unless custom has habituated them to its
discomforts. The mode is this: a strong rope is fastened to the
horse's head, the other end being lashed to the stern of the
ferry boat; when the latter is pulled from the shore by powerful
hands, the poor beast must follow, being fairly dragged into
the water. At this river he is off his legs in a few yards; [71/72]
sometimes he loses his presence of mind, gets confused and bewildered
through his intense agony of fright. To meet such an emergency,
an extra hand is usually placed in the boat, who holds the animal's
head well out of the water, as was the case with one of our steeds
to-day; it is, however, very rarely that any serious accident
occurs.

A short ride brought us to the Don, which we forded easily,
at nearly dead low water. The state of the tide warned us that
it was necessary to push on rapidly to the Forth, about seven
miles distant. Our movements were quickened by meeting a horseman,
about half-way, who told us that the tide was rising when he
crossed, and that we had not a moment to lose. The boat was gone,
so that we should have to cross the river on horseback. We quickened
our pace, and rode hard for it; a quarter of an hour later, and
our horses would have been constrained to swim. As it was, we
made a very fair passage, with no more discomfort than the ordinary
wetting incident to fording ordinary rivers.

An hour mote passed; when, after a leisurely [72/73] ride
through the bush, we dismounted at "Erica Hill," the
hospitable residence of Mr. Gilbert.

What a change from the rude, wild, primeval forest! We are
ushered into a simple, wooden house, rough and unpretending in
its exterior, but within, replete with all that indicates the
refined and cultivated minds of its tenants. How refreshing to
the eye--doubly refreshing in this remote spot--to look upon
graceful works of art, the drawing, the engraving, the statuette;
our hostess, too, a really fascinating lady, though long past
the bloom of youth, doing the honours with all that graceful
elegance which usually attends those who have been brought up
in the refined atmosphere of the best Parisian circles! I have
rarely passed such an evening.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1st.

I was much disappointed in my hope of being able to assemble
the people in the neighbourhood for Divine service. Upon inquiry,
we found that all the adult population--indeed, that most of
the women and children too--were too busy in the [73/74] potato-field
to afford the remotest prospect of our gathering together for
prayer. About midday, therefore, we remounted our horses, in
order to return to the vessel.

Our passage of the river was not quite so favourable as that
of yesterday, not being so quickly accomplished. We followed
Mr. Nicholls, who acted as our guide, into the middle of the
river. He attempted to pass close to the breakers, thinking that,
if the stream was wider there than elsewhere, its depth was less.
Before following him further, I waited to see the result of his
endeavour. It was not long before he retraced his course, and
then I knew that it was high time for me to seek the shore. We
tried the passage some way further up, and crossed where the
water was no higher than our knees as we sat upon the saddle.

THURSDAY, 2d.

was chiefly passed in exploring the country, and in visiting
the people. Some time was spent in inspecting the saw-mill which
had been recently built, about a mile above the township. It
will, [74/75] I fear, prove an unfortunate speculation for its
original projectors and proprietors.

As Captain King was anxious to see the inner basin of the
river, as well as to visit the coal mines, I was very glad to
accompany my kind old friend. We called at different places on
our way up, in the boat, and early in the afternoon reached our
destination at Ballahoo Creek. Some doubt seems to exist, whether
the enormous expenses consequent upon the first working of the
mines, will not swallow up all the profits. It appears, that
during Mr. Williams's absence in Hobart Town, the carelessness
of the man left in charge suffered the water to rush into the
shaft, and so, for the time, to inutilize all their work. It
will require an expenditure of 500l. to repair this evil.
His energy, however, is manifestly equal to any emergency, and
he is one to set to work resolutely to grapple with a difficulty,
instead of brooding or mourning over it.

Notwithstanding the somewhat discouraging [75/76] experience
of last Sunday, I made arrangements with him for coming up in
the morning of the 5th, for Divine service.

SATURDAY, 4th.

Visited the township, from house to house; marked out the
burial-ground, and took measures for having it properly secured
and fenced in. I am very glad to find that the settlers are strongly
imbued with the good old English feeling of a reverential respect
for the precincts of the dead. I endeavoured, and I hope not
without success, to impress upon them the true Christian reason
for this feeling; reminding them, that as the body is the temple
of the Holy Ghost, so each corpse must be reverently handled
and dealt with, as a something which God himself has vouchsafed
to honour and to sanctify by His own indwelling.

Walked over to Pardoc, and got thoroughly drenched on my return
at night.

[77] SUNDAY, 5th.

Rowed up the river, for Divine service at the Denison Mines.
The ideas that I entertained and recorded on Sunday last, were
abundantly confirmed. Nevertheless, the testimony has been given--the
seed sown--may God, in His good providence, vouchsafe to render
the harvest! though we may be unconscious of its existence, until
that day when we shall know even as we are known.

One pleasing incident, connected with my visit to the mines
to-day, will always make me look back to it with singular pleasure.

I was gratified to see at our morning's gathering, one of
my old Newton neighbours, his wife, and child. About a year ago,
he had sold his property immediately adjoining my premises, and
had purchased a small farm at the Mersey.

When the service had concluded, he went down to the creek
to prepare the boat for their return home, some three miles down
the river. Mrs. Spotswood brought her little boy to me, a fine
fellow, about six years old. "He has something [77/78] for
you," she said. I held out my hand, into which he put a
little paper packet. On opening it, I found that it contained
a gold nugget and a sixpence. Thinking that the child was desirous
merely to show me his treasures, I returned the packet, after
having commended the beauty of his nugget. The tears gathered
in the child's eyes, and his whole look betokened disappointment,
and even sorrow. He refused to take back his offering.

The mother then explained; that, hearing that "his Bishop
was coming," be had earnestly petitioned to be allowed to
attend Divine service, to carry with him all his little savings
and pocket-money, and to give it his Bishop, to be expended
as he thought proper, for the good of the Church. Dear little
fellow, it was his all; and it must have been an act of
self-denial to have surrendered that "all," and to
have left himself stripped and bare. But it was an act of faith,
too; and I gladly record it as an evidence that there are, amongst
our Tasmanian yeomen, those who are mindful of the duty that
lies upon them, to train up their little ones, both by precept
and example, [78/79] to understand and act upon the Christian's
law of love.

In the afternoon, our Torquay congregation assembled; it was
a different and a more comfortable scene; the devout demeanour
of our little band of faithful worshippers giving me the cheering
hope that they were disciples who felt the privilege and the
blessing of the ministration of the Word.

MONDAY, 6th.

Piloted Captain King to the Don. He was desirous to gain some
information respecting the western coast and King's Island, from
a respectable settler, named Drew, who has established a comfortable
homestead for himself at the river's mouth. The Captain wished
also, if possible, to secure his services as pilot during the
difficult and perhaps perilous navigation that is before us.
Not a soul on board knows anything of the places which we propose
to visit. It is easy enough to proceed to Circular Head without
a pilot; my own knowledge of the place would be enough for that,
even if anything were required beyond the [79/80] charts; but
the coast beyond requires a perfect knowledge of its intricacies
on the part of the navigator, to tender its inspection even moderately
safe. If, too, we fulfil our intention of visiting Macquarie
Harbour and Port Davey, common prudence would suggest the necessity
of our having an experienced pilot.

Returned to the schooner; having failed in our mission. Mr.
Drew, however, promises to come over on Thursday, and talk the
matter over with Captain King. We shall, at least, gain some
valuable information from one who knows the coast as well as
he does his own farm-yard.

TUESDAY, 7th.

A long bush ramble and scramble over the rocks of the Mersey
bluff; an excellent remedy for a dull, heavy headache, which
indisposes me for mental work. Killed a whipsnake, upon which
I all but trod, on leaping down from a dead fallen tree, on to
the shingle. These little creatures, rarely above eighteen inches
in length, are amongst the most dangerous of their tribe, [80/81]
to wanderers in the bush. They are so small, as often to escape
observation; so like a piece of brown, withered stick, that,
when motionless, even a practised eye may be deceived. Their
bite is deadly in its venom, and death the certain result, unless
active measures are most promptly taken. If medical help be not
immediately available, resort must be had to means whereby the
rapid absorption of the poison into the system may be prevented.
For this purpose a ligature should be tightly applied above the
bitten part (between the puncture and the heart), so as to produce
a turgid congestion of the small vessels leading from it. When
the circulation of the blood has been thus arrested, the next
step is to scarify and bleed freely, not the wound only, but
the adjacent parts. Much depends upon the copious flow of blood.
If the wound can then be sucked strongly, and afterwards cauterized,
little need be feared. The most common mode of effecting the
cautery is, to place gunpowder on the wound, and to ignite it.
Lime, or wood ashes, I have been told, are efficacious, as well
as a poultice of ipecacuanha powder.

[82] It is very rarely that we hear of a fatal accident from
a snake-bite. In fact, Providence has endued the venomous reptile
with so great a dread of man, that it will almost always endeavour
to escape. If, however, you happen to be between it and its hole,
it will make a savage and a deadly spring, as much, perhaps,
from tenor, as from viciousness.

WEDNESDAY, 8th.

Went on shore to the township, for the purpose of endeavouring
to rouse the inhabitants to bestir themselves, for the establishment
of a school. Drew up some hints, to enable them to facilitate
the good work.

One small farmer I had not yet visited; so I extended my walk
for about two miles along the river side, until I came to a neat,
comfortable-looking cottage, that smacked of "home"
and all its dear village associations. Its occupants and I soon
discovered that we had a strong bond of union. He was a farmer
from East Kent, named Oldacre, who had emigrated from Upper Hardres,
when the free-trade system had flung most [82/83] of the poor
lands out of cultivation. I was glad, too, to find that he had
been intimately acquainted with my valued old friend, George
Quested of Ash, whose hearty co-operation as churchwarden would
have gladdened the heart of any parish priest in England.

THURSDAY, 9th.

Our work here is finished; the buoys laid don; the beacons
erected; and thus every facility given for entering the narrow
passage into the harbour, which--although pronounced in the "Australian
Directory," published under the authority of the Admiralty,
a "small port," "fit only for boats"--has
both space and depth of water to contain a squadron of vessels
of at least 300 tons burden. Until the bar is removed, vessels
of much larger tonnage (except steamers) would find it both difficult
and hazardous to enter.

Mr. Drew came, and gave us some very valuable information
respecting our voyage to King's Island. He strongly dissuades
us from attempting to return by the western coast without a pilot.

[84] Our original intention was to have got out today, but
it blew so hard, and so directly into the mouth of the passage,
that it would have been folly to attempt it. We determined to
wait and see what the morrow would bring.

FRIDAY, 10th.

And that morrow brought a glorious dawn, a light, fair wind,
and a smooth passage; so that at three, A.M., when the tide served,
we worked out to sea. It was gliding, rather than sailing, to
Emu Bay, where we dropped anchor about noon.

Mr. Power and myself went on shore in the whale boat, in charge
of and towing a buoy, which was intended to be placed over some
heavy moorings that had been laid down some time since for the
security of vessels in this open and dangerous roadstead. The
buoy rope had been lost, so that the people here will have to
drag to recover the moorings.

The time did not allow us to do more than pay a few visits
to some of the inhabitants; for an angry sky was threatening
mischief, and this is [84/85] but a wild anchorage, with the
wind to the eastward or northward.

I did not receive a very flourishing account from the chaplain,
Mr. Pocock, of the success of his mission; or of the appreciation
of the value of the means of grace amongst those to whom he is
appointed to minister. We have, too often, to mourn over a strange
apathy in religious matters that will not be stirred up to action,
whilst, in things of this world, there is no lack of persevering
energy.

We returned to the schooner early in the afternoon. Got under
way at seven, P. M.

SATURDAY, 11th.

It was well that we did so, for it was a rough night. Upon
going on deck this morning, I found that we were abreast of Rocky
Cape, not having made much progress, with all our uneasy work
during the last ten hours. Soon after breakfast, the breeze freshened
and became more in our favour; at noon we anchored off Circular
Head. In the afternoon the schooner was moored alongside the
wharf.

Forest Chapel, Circular Head

[86] The chaplain, Mr. Fookes, came on board. As I found that,
in anticipation of my arrival, he had long since prepared a few
candidates for Confirmation, I made arrangements to carry his
wishes into effect to-morrow morning.

The Presbyterian minister, Mr. Garrett, who had just arrived
on one of his periodical visits, expressed an earnest desire
that we should hold our usual evening service in the afternoon,
in order that he might assemble his own people in the evening
at their own place of meeting. I was very glad to comply with
his request. His visits are necessarily infrequent; but, at all
other times, the Presbyterians are regular attendants at the
services of our own Church.

SUNDAY, 12th.

Confirmed eight young females at Stanley in the morning. Took
charge of the afternoon service, in order to allow Mr. Fookes
to go to the Chapel in the Forest.

[87] MONDAY, 13th.

Went with the churchwardens to inspect the state of the parsonage.
It would seem, from their report, that no substantial repairs
have been effected since the house was built. The roof requires
shingling; the house itself is in a filthy condition; many of
the windows are broken, and in some cases the frames are rotten
for want of paint. We have no "law of dilapidation"
in this Colony; consequently, there are no means of enforcing
an incumbent to keep his house in substantial repair, nor to
compel him to pay for dilapidations upon vacating the parsonage.

Visited and examined the school in the afternoon, and inspected
the church; the former is well conducted, the latter in very
good order.

TUESDAY, 14th.

Soon after breakfast, Mr. Power and myself, with some others,
started for the Forest, about twelve miles distant; Captain King
was too much indisposed to accompany us. In the cart, which [87/88]
had been provided for his accommodation, were deposited Mr. Peebles
(a surveyor), Miss Mills (governess at Mr. Ford's in the Forest),
a young boy, and myself. Mr. Power and Mr. Fookes were on horseback;
not so splendidly mounted as to tempt me to change places with
either of them.

For some little distance, our way was on the sandy track of
the Bay. We soon struck into the forest, and after two hours'
"carriage exercise" (in the literal sense of the word),
arrived at Mr. Ford's. On our road we halted, for a minute or
two, to put an end to a large diamond snake that had crept out
to enjoy a passing gleam of sunshine.

On our arrival at Mr. Ford's, our party separated. The surveyor-general
rode on to inspect the Duck River. Mr. Fookes and myself determined
to visit the Forest school. It was well for us that Miss Mills
kindly offered herself as our guide; for the track through the
bush was so tortuous and intricate, that, had we trusted to our
own topographical skill, we should have wandered far and wide
before reaching our destination. [88/89] As it was, we did not
accomplish our task of two miles much under the hour. Heavy,
driving storms of rain not only impeded our progress, but rendered
the track so thoroughly sloppy, as to make our feet as wet as
though we had marched through every creek and puddle in our way.

This sequestered spot is considerably altered since my last
visit. So many trees have been cut down, and so much underwood
cleared away, that it no longer possesses the romantic character
which had arrested my attention so strongly a year or two ago.
I was abundantly repaid for my wet walk, by examining a more
than commonly intelligent class of children. The part of their
ordinary lesson book which was placed in my hands, for examination
and questioning, happened to be upon volcanoes. They had been
well taught, not merely to repeat, but to understand their lessons.
I was glad to have the opportunity of impressing the day's work
upon their minds, by drawing a rough sketch of Vesuvius, and
by relating what I had myself seen of its eruptions, during my
many visits to it, both by day and night, some twenty years ago.

[90] As might have been expected, we were completely drenched
upon our return to Mr. Ford's hospitable quarters; which we soon
quitted, on our homeward route, after a substantial luncheon.
It was well for us that we were timely in our departure. We had
scarcely reached the schooner at about half-past five, when the
sharp driving squalls, which had, more or less, prevailed during
the whole day, ended in a furious gale from the S.W. Had we remained
at our first anchorage, instead of being moored at the wharf,
our position would have been extremely uncomfortable--perhaps
even somewhat perilous.

The little cutter, David Howie, belonging to an enterprising
and skilful mariner of the same name, came in during the morning.
We had been especially anxious to see him, as being the only
person who could be said to be thoroughly acquainted with the
intricate and perilous navigation amidst the shoals, reefs, islets,
and sunken rocks, in the vicinity of King's Island. We were rejoiced
to find that Captain King had already entered into negotiation
with him to act as our pilot.

[91] WEDNESDAY, 15th.

David Howie came on board to make final arrangements for accompanying
us. We found him a singularly intelligent man. Years ago he came
out to this Colony from Edinburgh, being then very young. For
some time past he has resided at Robbin's Island; visiting alternately
the other islands in the vicinity, with his little cutter of
no more than twelve or fourteen tons burden; at one time sealing,
at another trading; now bringing to Circular Head a cargo of
live stock, again proceeding to Launceston with a consignment
of potatoes. He has, however, another and a stronger claim to
respect, beyond that which his enterprising energy commands.
No man in the Straits has rendered so much assistance, in times
of peril and of shipwreck, as David Howie. He told us some appalling
tales of the fearful wreck of the female emigrant ship, Cataraqui,
on the western coast of King's Island, on the morning of the
4th of August, 1845. Out of 423 souls on board, only nine were
saved.

She was bound to Melbourne. All went on [91/92] smoothly,
save some differences between the surgeon superintendent and
the captain, which had broken out occasionally during the greater
part of the voyage. It was the afternoon of the 3d of August;
they were expecting to be in Melbourne on the morrow. The emigrants
had gained permission from the captain to have their boxes brought
up out of the hold, in order that they might look out and select
their holiday attire for shore inspection, on their landing.
The night as it drew on was dark and misty: there were, withal,
sufficient indications of the speedy approach of bad weather,
to induce the captain to shorten sail, and to put the vessel
under very easy canvas. After having given the necessary orders,
he went below. Most unfortunately, he overheard the surgeon criticising
his caution in very disparaging terms, and attributing a commendable
prudence to personal fear. In a moment of impatient irritation
he went upon deck and gave his counter orders, "Shake out
the reefs, and stand on!" As the night advanced, the gale
freshened, the darkness increased. Ignorant of his actual position,
and not aware of the strength of the current that drove [92/93]
him miles out of his reckoning to the southward, the captain
stood fearlessly on, at the rate of nine or ten knots an hour.
The roaring of the wind prevented them from hearing the noise
of the breakers, of whose existence they had no suspicion. In
the thick darkness of a cold winter's morning, the rain beating
heavily, and the gale blowing furiously, they suddenly struck
upon a jagged rock, not a hundred yards from the shore. One terrific
smash, and all was over. The ill-fated vessel parted, and broke
up instantly. There was no time for boats; nay, had they been
ever so prepared--in such weather, on such a coast, and in such
a surf--few boats could have lived. The surgeon was the first
to perish; the poor unhappy girls were tossed into the ocean
as they were, unclad, unprepared; the wild screaming death shriek
mingling with the wilder storm. There was no hope for feeble
womanhood in that dark struggle with the rocks and billows for
life and death. It is a marvel that even the strong man was able
to battle it out, and to reach the shore in safety.

The morning dawned upon a horrible scene. Not a vestige of
the vessel was to be seen, except [93/94] her scattered remains
upon the beach. For two or three miles, the shore was strewn
with the bleeding corpses of the poor girls, in every form of
struggling agony. Howie was there two days after the shipwreck,
and told us, with tears in his eyes, that he walked along the
rocks at first, as though he had been in a mad oppressive dream;
weeks, months, passed before he was able to resume his ordinary
work and duties.

We spoke of the plan that had been suggested for the erection
of a lighthouse on Wickham Point, the northern extremity of the
island. He entertained serious misgivings that the proposal,
if carried into effect, would prove a failure. His reasons were
these: the land itself is low, and completely intersected with
lagoons, the vapour from which casts so thick a haze over the
whole island, that it is very commonly invisible for a great
part of the year, until you are closely upon it. If his view
be correct--knowing as we do that a current sets strongly to
the southward--a vessel, determining to make the proposed light,
might, and probably would, become hopelessly embayed before the
haze permitted her to see it.

[95] Howie seems to think, that a dépôt
of stores and provisions, with a guard of a few men, under a
trustworthy superintendent, would be of greater use. It is a
question for mariners, not for landsmen to decide; to them we
must be content to leave it.

THURSDAY, 16th.

Worked out at seven, A.M., David Howie preceding us in his
little cutter. After a pleasant run, we anchored off Robbin's
Island at two in the afternoon. As I had much to write, I stayed
on board, whilst Mr. Power went on shore. I had reason to regret
my decision; for instead of remaining here throughout to-morrow,
in order to inspect Duck River, and then to proceed to Woolnorth,
it was determined by Captain King that we should at once set
sail for King's Island. So, if the wind holds, to-morrow morning
will see us at work again.

FRIDAY, 17th.

Soon after daylight, David Howie came on board, but it was
seven o'clock before we were fairly [95/96] under way. Our course
was one which we should not have ventured to take without so
experienced a pilot. We steered boldly through the passage between
Hunter's Islands, threaded the narrow channel through the Petrel
Islands, and passed within a mile of Albatross Island; where,
as Howie reports, is a fine bed of guano. The island is so entirely
an ocean rock, devoid of any landing-place, that those who are
venturesome enough to attempt to collect the guano, are compelled
to have their boats hauled up the craggy sides of this rude and
barren precipice. In the afternoon we passed within half-a-mile
of Reid's Rocks, where we saw a large herd of seals, snorting,
disporting, and sunning themselves by turns.

It was about half-past five when we anchored in Fitzmaurice
Bay, on the western coast of King's Island. I had omitted to
mention that rumours of recent wrecks (the Brahmin and
Waterwitch especially) had determined us on searching
this coast thoroughly, in the hope that we might, with God's
blessing, be of some service to such as should be spared.

We were now close to the scene of the wreck of [96/97] the
Cataraqui. After dinner I went on shore with Captain Nicholson
and Howie, to ascertain if there were any traces of recent arrivals
or of fresh disasters. There were none. Two native women, until
very lately, lived here; they had been taken away to Melbourne.
The tiny bark hut which they had erected was fresh and unmolested.
The strand was a melancholy sight; signs of wreck and desolation
meeting us at every step. Huge timbers were lying about amongst
the rocks; doors, planks, spars, casks, were scattered on every
side, relics, as Howie told us, of the unfortunate Cataraqui.

As it was possible that some stragglers from the wrecks might
be, even yet, inland, we took the precaution of setting fire
to the bush, as a signal, and at dusk returned to the schooner.

SATURDAY, 18th.

We breakfasted early, in order that we might begin work betimes.
Mr. Power, David Howie, and myself, commenced our search. The
fires that we lighted last evening would have brought [97/98]
the stragglers down, had any remained from the recent wrecks.
We then proceeded along the shore, in order to visit the relics
of the unfortunate Cataraqui. It was intensely interesting,
to retrace the scenes of this fearful catastrophe in the company
of one who had borne so prominent a part in the rescue of the
few survivors; who had buried the mangled dead by hundreds, and
who had been an eye-witness of all that he described.

Our track led us for some way along the sand. We then struck
into the thick tangled scrub, which was immediately above the
belt of rocks that alone divided it from the sea. We had again
descended from the scrub, as it was manifestly easier to scramble
over the reefs, than to force our way through the tangled thicket
before us. A shout from two of our sailors, who were in advance,
hastened our steps. It was nothing but a whip-snake at which
they were gazing, afraid to attack it, and unwilling to retreat.
Used as I had been to make short work with these venomous creatures,
wherever and whenever I fell in with them, it was the task of
an instant to destroy it.

[99] Not ten minutes afterwards, I espied a large diamond
snake enjoying himself to the full. He was basking with his head
in the sun, and with his tail in a pool of water, that had settled
amidst the rocks. Scarcely was an exclamation of surprise out
of my mouth, when Howie saw him too. With a vigorous blow he
broke the reptile's spine; and then came the last struggle for
the victory. I have never seen a snake fight so hardly for his
life: he had so coiled his head around something below the water,
that it was not until after a succession of strenuous efforts,
that Howie pulled him out by the tail. He measured four feet
six inches.

We were now approaching the immediate scene of the wreck;
the shore and scrub were strewn with relics of misfortune, dumb
witnesses of long past scenes of death and horror: tubs, spars,
huge beams, iron knees, doors, all by turns meet our eyes. Our
guide paused at a mound, at the end of which a rude plank had
been erected as a memorial. "Yonder," he said, pointing
to the rocks, "I dragged on shore the bodies of eighteen
poor girls; some were locked in each other's arms, [99/100] others
as tranquil as though they were asleep, others bent and twisted
with the most distorted forms; and here I dug their grave, and
buried them: the plank marks the number that lie beneath."
Again, we came upon another grave, where he had buried twenty;
nearer to the scene of the disaster was another, where fifty
were entombed. At last we came to the great grave of all, within
sight of the very rocks on which the ship was dashed to pieces.
"Here," he said, in a hoarse whisper, each muscle of
his face quivering with the remembrance of the horrid task of
former years, "here I buried 245."

They lie in a square enclosure, with a wooden rail around
them, the rank grass and tall underwood half concealing the very
mound above them. We cleared it all away, made the whole place
neat and orderly, painted the wood-work (such having been our
intention when we left the schooner), and departed.

The authorities at Melbourne had sent out an iron tablet commemorative
of the event. It was placed at the back of a huge rock, so near
to the fatal reef as to be almost within sight of it, and [100/101]
yet sufficiently secured as to be beyond the probability of being
injured or washed away by the waves.

No tongue can describe, no sketch can delineate, the wild
savage ruggedness of this fearful coast. It is not high, but
beset on every side with reefs, girt in with sharp jagged rocks
which would split to splinters the stoutest vessel that was unfortunate
enough to come in contact with them.

After a thorough investigation of the coast, satisfying ourselves,
by close examination, that there were no survivors of any wrecks,
inspecting the indications of more recent disasters, we made
our way back to the boat; a slight swell was setting in, so that
after we had succeeded in launching it, the difficulty was to
embark. Two of our sailors rowed it to the edge of the reef that
stretched some way into the sea. We picked our, steps along the
rocks, watched narrowly the reflux of the wave, and then made
a leap for it. The schooner was already under way when we reached
her; at three P.M. we set sail, intending to anchor under the
shelter of the New Year Islands.

We were seated at dinner, reporting to Captain [101/102] King
all that we had seen and done, when Howie, who was at the helm,
cried out, "A wreck on shore!" It brought us upon deck
in an instant. Oar telescopes reported what appeared to be a
large schooner flung stern foremost on the beach. A large spar
had been erected as a signal upon some rising ground beyond;
at the foot of which was something, which, at first, we all took
to be a man keeping watch. Its immobility convinced us that we
were mistaken. She had evidently been abandoned and stripped;
a large sail was lying over the companion; two tents upon the
beach afforded sufficient evidence that some, at least, had escaped:
but no indication of anything moving led us to believe that any
one was there at present. We lay to for a short time, and kept
close watch with our glasses. No signal was made from shore,
so we filled again and resumed our course.

"Another wreck!" was the cry in another hour, and
the truth of the announcement was soon made manifest through
the medium of our own glasses. No hull was visible, but the strand
was strewn for at least a couple of miles with what appeared
[102/103] to be the cargo of a large ship. Again the most careful
examination satisfied us that there was nothing living there.
Large tents, pitched at the end of the scrub, bore abundant testimony
that many must have escaped to shore. The wind would not permit
us to stand closer in, so we made for New Year Islands, and dropped
anchor under the lee of the Western Island at half-past seven
P.M.

We had a long conference this evening as to what was to be
done on the morrow. Our conclusion was, that it would be a work
of mercy to endeavour to visit these wrecks. True, we saw no
signs of life; but some stragglers might have wandered inwards,
who might require our help on this desolate and uninhabited region.
Perhaps, too, we might render some assistance towards clearing
up the doubts that have attended the wrecks of this treacherous
and dreadful coast.

SUNDAY, 19th.

We got under way at half-past five in the morning, and by
nine we were abreast of the [103/104] schooner's wreck in Half
Moon Bay. The bottom, on sounding, proved to be rocky, so that
it was impossible to anchor. Captain King resolved to lie to,
whilst Mr. Power, Howie, and myself, with the boat's crew, went
ashore. No signs of life greeted us on landing; so that we felt
sure that the survivors had been taken off and that the most
important and interesting part of our mission was at an end.
On nearing the stranded vessel, we found that she was the Waterwitch.
The first object that met our eyes, on advancing further, was
a trunk, with a bright blue dress coat half hanging out. Its
owner seemed determined not to part altogether with his best
belongings, for the buttons were all cut off. We then came upon
a kind of encampment, consisting of five tents made out of the
rescued sails. On entering, we found them full of every species
of comfort saved from the wreck. Beds and bedding, trunks, clothes,
shoes, books, a medicine chest, scent-bottles, hair oil, tubs
of flour, and bottles of fish-sauce, all were there in profusion.
In other places, strewn and scattered about, as things of no
esteem, were Parisian stays, gutta [104/105] percha shoes, parasols,
cigars, newspapers, a sextant and quadrant. The ship's caboose
occupied a prominent position in the centre of the encampment;
and a small well dug on one side proved that the most methodical
attention had been paid by the commander to the comforts of his
shipwrecked crew and passengers. Four sheep, singularly tame,
were quietly browsing near the encampment: they merely stared
at us, and did not offer to move away. The main boom had been
erected on a high piece of land close by as a flag-staff; a large
calico ensign with the word distress "in large letters painted
on it, together with the union jack, was at the foot of the staff.
This was what we had at first taken for a man on the watch, at
our yesterday's distant inspection. An inscription painted on
a board set all doubts and anxieties at rest. It set forth that
the "crew and passengers were taken off by the steamer."
On a huge whalebone another inscription was painted, "The
Waterwitch wrecked 17th September, 1854. All hands saved.
A. H. Forrest, commander."

She was bound from Melbourne to Mauritius, [105/106] with
several French passengers, whose books, papers, and effects were
plentifully strewn about. Howie and the carpenter waded through
the sea, and clambered up the vessel's side. They reported, on
their return, that her bottom was knocked completely out, and
that her stripped condition evinced that the utmost care had
been taken by her commander to save the property.

By eleven o'clock we were once more on board the Beacon;
soon after one, we were abreast of the second wreck which we
had descried yesterday. On landing, a fearful sight presented
itself. The unfortunate vessel must have been as completely smashed
upon the rocks, as was the Cataraqui. No doubt remained
as to her identity. We had not scrambled many yards over the
rough and jagged reef, before we came upon the remains of her
stern, on which was inscribed the name, Brahmin. It was
a sad scene of desolation, and of wanton destruction too; for
case after case of valuable property had been torn open, for
no other purpose, it would seem, than that of satisfying a wanton
curiosity. The rocks, the shore, the bush, all were strewn with
the [106/107] remnants of her cargo; whips, saddlery, shoes,
stockings, printing paper, pictures, looking-glasses, stationery,
a piano, wine and ale casks, were scattered about in ruinous
profusion; spars, cordage, portions of the broken hull, and all
the débris of the wreck, intermingled with the
cargo. A neat marble tablet on the hill-side, carved, it would
seem, by one of the rescued crew, told us the fate of the commander.
Its inscription was "Sacred to the memory of Captain M'Eachern,
late of the ship Brahmin, who was drowned on the 21st
of May, 1854, aged 39 years." Several, as we afterwards
understood, perished with him, including all the officers except
the carpenter, so that the reckless scene of destruction was
easily accounted for; there was no restraining hand, and each
man did that which was right in his own eyes.

The survivors had erected tents; but they had manifestly not
saved so many comforts as their brethren in misfortune at Half
Moon Bay. A large fire, whether accidental or not, had consumed
a vast amount of valuable property that had been heaped together,
apparently as a kind of store. [107/108] It was a wretched sight,
upon which, as we could do no good, we gladly turned our backs,
but not, I hope, without a deep sense of thankfulness for our
own successful expedition to this most dangerous coast. Howie
told us, that during his experience of many years he has never
known the sea so calm, or the landing-places so free from surf,
as they have been to-day.

It was late before we reached our anchorage of the previous
night; too late to keep the men from their rest, for the purpose
of celebrating Divine service.

MONDAY, 20th.

In the morning, we went to explore the western coast of the
New Year Islands, as well as to take observations; which, by
the way, were interrupted by the appearance of a large black
snake, which was soon despatched. Another was too nimble for
my stick.

This Island (upon which some have proposed to erect the contemplated
lighthouse) is a bare, sandy mass flung up upon granite rocks,
which the deposits of the birds have alone made fertile [108/109]
in parts and patches. "The pig's face" grows in abundance,
as well as a small stunted shrub under which the mutton birds
make their nests. We started some quails and snipe from these
covers: prudence forbade any closer examination, for they were
perfectly alive with snakes. Some few years ago, Howie scattered
celery, parsley, and cabbage seeds. These have thriven well and
gave ample employment to our men, in cutting their produce and
stowing it away in bags, as food for the goat.

The point on King's Island opposite to these rocky Islets
was named by the Surveyor-General the Bishop's Point," and
so it will remain.

Our fine weather is breaking up, having lasted just long enough
to allow us to complete the desired observations. It is coming
on to blow hard from the westward, so the sooner we round Wickham
Point, the better; else we may be kept here for days.

At mid-day we set sail, the wind heavy and puffy; a long swell
setting in, a falling barometer, and every indication of dirty
weather. Within a little of our quitting the anchorage, we sighted
a [109/110] schooner, which, on nearing us, proved to be the
Native Lass, with a party on board, intending to exhume, and
convey to Launceston, the corpse of the ill-fated commander of
the Brahmin. The tidings of the wreck and of the rescue
have just reached that town. They were fortunate in having half-an-hour's
conversation with Howie, who went on board for the purpose of
giving them instructions how to proceed upon their landing.

Anchored soon after sundown behind the Sea Elephant's Rocks,
on the eastern coast of King's Island--a very snug berth, let
the West wind blow as hard as it may. A wild night; lightning
on every side around us, heavy rain, and an occasional roll of
thunder.

TUESDAY, 21st.

Howie decided on leaving us this morning, for the western
coast of the Island. He hopes to be in time to meet the party
that is bound to the wreck of the Brahmin. It is blowing
so hard from the S.W., that they will need both help and guidance.

[111] After a long and anxious debate as to our future course,
we are reluctantly compelled to abandon our intention of returning
by the western coast. The wind is foul and stormy, with no prospect
of any immediate alteration; and Captain King does not feel himself
justified in detaining the schooner until it moderates. In fact,
we require, in order to visit so dangerous a coast with safety,
fair winds, smooth seas, moonlight nights, and an experienced
pilot. Of the two first there is no present appearance; the third
is out of the question, as the new moon commenced her course
yesterday evening. Our pilot has determined to go elsewhere.
So, our course is eastward, home through Banks's Straits.

Captain King accompanied Howie on shore. I do not envy him
his tramp of seventeen miles across the bush to the western shores,
in such a day as this is likely to turn out.

The Captain has just returned; in another hour the anchor
will be up, the sails set, and ourselves homeward bound.

On leaving, this much-dreaded coast, we cannot be too thankful
for the many providential [111/112] blessings that have attended
our visit. We fell in with the only man who thoroughly knows
its every nook; while the weather has been more steadily fine
and tranquil than our most sanguine expectations could have anticipated.

"Man the windlass!" is the cry. So we are off. And
a furious day we have had of it; the wind fair, but the sea very
heavy

WEDNESDAY, 22d.

It was as severe a night as we have yet encountered, and we
shipped two or three tumbling seas in consequence. But we have
made a splendid run. By eight o'clock this morning we rounded
Swan Island, having traversed the entire length of Bass's Straits
in less than twenty-four hours. We hauled up, to allow the superintendent
to come on board from the Island for a few minutes. The wind
was light and variable all day. We had advanced no further than
Cape Tourville by tea o'clock at night.

THURSDAY, 23d.

Light airs throughout the whole night; the vessel scarcely
making any way during the last eight hours. In the morning, we
were off the Geographe Passage, that divides Schonters Island
from the main. We were near enough to have a noble view of the
rugged basaltic rocks of the former.

Towards the afternoon, there was every appearance of the approach
of very heavy weather; the increasing haze gradually concealed
the coast from our sight, and the whole horizon looked indicative
of mischief. It ended, however, not in storm, but in rain. We
rounded Cape Pillar about six in the evening. And here we are,
at nine P.M., off Wedge Islands, with all sail set, and a light
at our bowsprit, standing quickly up Storm Bay, in smooth water,
at the rate of about five knots an hour.

My last entry, before turning in for the night, must be a
grateful acknowledgment of the many mercies that we have received
at the hands of Divine Providence, during our two months' [113/114]
absence. We have seen much, done much, planned much, and learnt
much, without a single serious discomfort or misadventure.

FRIDAY, 24th.

Landed at half-past nine. Walked over to Bishop's Town, and
found all well at home. Laus Deo.